For Even in the Dark, There is Still a Road
by Metronome I Hear
Summary: There are reasons for becoming a villain other than "You can't be a Hero."
1. Nighthawk

**Nighthawk - n. a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest.**

...

"What is good?" The words drip from his mouth like blood and ink, dreams of shadows and laughter lingering behind his eyes, their echoes mocking him on the ceiling. "What is evil?"

The room is dark, the moonlight filtering in the only real light, but Izuku… Izuku can see regardless. He knows his room looks the same as it did that morning, when he woke up. He knew it was scattered with All Might posters and All Might figurines, and that there was a shelf for his notebooks, and his desk had his finished homework on it. It was all so painfully… normal.

Like nothing had happened.

( _Blood spilled outwards like flowers blooming from the ground, so red, so red, like roses are supposed to be. Can you take a breath, dear man? Can you still breathe?_ )

He feels like laughing. Or screaming. Or both, really. Anything but this oppressing silence, pressing into him on all sides, consuming him like death must have come for that man. That man-

He had a name, Izuku reminds himself. Yamada Kenichi, His name was Yamada Kenichi.

Yamada Kenichi is dead now.

Not coming back.

He still sees, in his mind's eye, the hole in his clothing, blood staining the blue fabric brown. He could still, even after he'd scrubbed himself clean again and again and again, smell the gunpowder in his nose. The scent of sweat, of dirt, of blood pouring from the wound. He could still hear, in his ears, echoing like a stubborn ghost intent upon a haunting, the man's last ragged, broken breathes. He could see it, still, the pain in his eyes, the desperation, the despair, before it all faded away and vanished.

( _He could see the glassy stare of death_ )

" _For mother,_ " he had whispered to himself, a mantra to keep him going when anyone else would have stopped. " _For mother, for mother._ "

How had it come to this point? How had things gone and changed from what it had been to what it was now? From him sitting at the table and laughing with his mother, his only real worry being what Katsuki might do to him at school, to this? To his mother in the hospital, breathing only because of machines, a disease no one even knew the name of killing her slowly…

To him, having killed a man.

(" _For mother, for mother, for mother."_ )

There were reasons for this. There were reasons for everything. He needs the money, couldn't go without it. Needs the money to pay the bills, to fend off the loan sharks, to keep his mother alive-

Was it enough?

"What is good?" He whispers to himself, in the darkness of his room, the only light that of the moon. "What is evil?"

He doesn't think he knows the answer to that, anymore. The world had always been black and white to him, as stupid as that sounds. It had never really occurred to him that murderers, people who killed, that _villains_ , might have a reason for doing what they do. It had always just been… Heroes and villains. Good and evil. Right and wrong.

What was the difference between the two of them?

Unbidden, a conversation he had heard between two of his classmates came to mind. It had been a week ago, and they had been discussing an anime-though which one he couldn't quite recall-and one of them had written a poem about it. It wasn't a very good poem. The lines didn't flow very well, and the subject matter was all over the place, but-

There was a stanza, in that poem, that had stayed with him.

He whispers those words now, like a secret that shouldn't be told, lest something that shouldn't overhear be there. But maybe he wants to be caught? Maybe he wants to be found? To be tried for his crimes, for the information he sold that ruined people's lives, for accepting the money he needs to keep his mother alive, for killing Yamada Kenichi so Izuku could keep living.

"Who is it who weighs the soul?

Who is it who checks the balances?

Who is it who sees our sins?

Who decides if we've sinned at all?"

He pauses, lets the words settle over him like a cloak, and just breathes. It's… difficult. The weight of it all is suffocating, even when held up by the mantra that is " _for mother, for mother, for mother._ "

"What is good?" He feels like a broken record. "What is evil?"

Izuku killed a man today. He killed a man who had come for revenge. Izuku sold the information that lead to Yamada's life falling apart. He hadn't known what the information would be used for, hadn't cared to ask. He knew that most of the information he sold wasn't being used for anything good, had seen it in the way that heroes had started falling to weaknesses only Izuku had ever known before, and yet-

He still sold it. Willingly. Gratefully. When he had seen the aftermath on TV, he hadn't regretted it. He still didn't regret it. He needs that money, desperately.

"What is good?" He asks. "What is evil?"

The silence of the room is the only response.

…

 **AN: Written for Villain Izuku Week over on tumblr! The prompt was "Evil." When I wrote this, I asked myself "Why would Izuku become a villain when he wants nothing more than to be a hero?" This is my answer.**


	2. Liberosis

**Liberosis - n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.**

His wounds ache.

He is covered in bruises and burns. He is bleeding from a cut on his palm, where he must have caught his hand on something. His body hurts, screams with every move he makes. He ignores it, can't do anything but ignore it, and runs.

There are days when he can't stand living in that house. Days when his father's presence is too much and he can't bring himself to seclude himself in his room after a training session, licking his wounds and waiting for the next session to begin. Days when he can't force himself to ignore the phantom ache around his eye, when his vision blurs and mind clamors with the voices of ghosts he doesn't want to hear.

Todoroki Shouto is only thirteen years old. He doesn't feel thirteen.

Endeavor left him on the floor of the Dojo as usual, stalking out with a flare of flame and a disappointed look in his eyes. There is nothing Shouto can do to please him, and Shouto doesn't want to please him, so that works out just fine. ( _It's not fine, not with the bruises shaped like handprints and burns shaped like fingers and terror terror terror, what if he-_ )

It hurts to stand up after that. It hurts to get onto his knees, his hands clammy and shaking with tremors he glares at to try and make them go away. ( _They don't_ ) It hurts to put one foot on the ground, steadying himself on the wall with his hands, before forcing himself to his feet. The world wavers ( _It hasn't done that in a while…_ ) and Shouto wonders if that blow to the head hadn't caused more damage than he'd originally thought.

The first step hurts the most. It usually does. It's a shock to his system, and he sends ice through his veins to force himself to take a second and a third and a fourth. Soon enough he's walking out of the Dojo on his own two feet, no matter how much it hurts.

Usually, he heads to his room after this. Usually, he pulls out the first aid kit he keeps in there and bandages his wounds, applies ointment to his burns, and avoids looking at the scars that drip down his shoulder from the boiling water that had run down the back of his neck and pooled there, years ago.

Usually.

Today, he can't bring himself to do that. He can't, not when the walls are closing in around him, suffocating him, making it hard to breathe. Not when he can hear his mother's voice in his head, (" _Unsightly"_ ) and feel the burn of water against his face. Not today.

So he stumbles as he walks, forcing himself to move faster and faster. He's still dressed in his training cloths, his wounds are still uncared for, and this is stupid, so stupid, but-

He needs this.

His steps get steadier as he walks, step after step. He straightens his back, takes deep breaths, isolating the pain and pushing it back back back, so he doesn't have to think about it. ( _Doesn't have to feel_ )

He reaches the entrance and leaves. Just walks out. Never mind his wounds, never mind his clothes, never mind that he's heading out in public where anyone could recognize him.

Todoroki Shouto is thirteen. Just thirteen.

His steps get faster as they get steadier, his strides growing longer, growing quicker, until suddenly he's running. He's running through the streets, running away from home, running as far as he possibly can. It's irrational-his father will drag him home if he doesn't come back, will hunt him down. He knows because he's tried before, when he was younger. ( _When his scar was still covered in bandages and he was too stupid to know that there was no escaping here, no escaping this hell that man has created for him_ )

He runs because there is nothing else he can do. He runs because running is something he has, something he can do on his own power, and power is something precious when you have so little of it. He runs because the wind in his hair is freeing, because the burn in his limbs reminds him he's alive, because the sharp pain in his lungs with every heaving breath is a reminder of his determination, of his resolve, of his promise.

He runs.

He doesn't know how long he runs for. He doesn't count the seconds, count the minutes. ( _He doesn't count the ticking hands of the clock as each moment slips through his fingers like sand_ ) He doesn't look where he runs, only avoiding crowds because they press into him on all sides. ( _And if he's sort of claustrophobic, can anyone blame him?_ ) He loses himself in the rhythm of pumping arms, moving legs, of breath after breath, his wounds a constant reminder of what, exactly, he is escaping from. He runs and runs and runs and runs and-

He crashes into someone. They both fall to the ground, and there is a clatter of something metalic hitting the floor. Shouto hisses in discomfort, having landed on a bruise, and resists the urge to curl up and cry. Crying doesn't help things, doesn't change anything, doesn't make anything better. He's learned crying only makes things worse.

He forces himself up, looking to see who he crashed into, and sees a boy.

They're about the same age, if Shouto had to guess. The boy has messy hair, dark green curls peaking out from the hood of an All Might hoodie. The ears of All Might's hair are sticking up, and it looks almost like rabbit ears. His eyes are green, Shouto notes, and he has freckles scattered across his cheeks.

He's also holding a knife.

He'd scrambled for it, apparently, when they had hit the ground and it had fallen out of either his grip or his pocket, Shouto didn't know. He clutched it to his chest, cradling it, like something precious, and there is a wild sort of look in his eyes that Shouto isn't sure he likes the look of. It feels dangerous. ( _Not like his father is dangerous, not like his mother was dangerous, but-_ )

"S-sorry!" the boy stammers, hunching his shoulders and scrambling to his knees, the knife still hidden among his fingers, clutched close to his chest. "I-I'll just-" he pauses then, stopping, though for what reason Shouto can't fathom.

"Are you okay?" the boy asks, his voice surprisingly soft and steady compared to the mess it was just a second before. Shouto finds himself dragged in. It has been a while since he has heard that tone from anyone other than his sister.

"I-" Shouto cut himself off, suddenly so much more aware of what he must look like, of the bruises and burns and the cut on his palm that must be full of grime by this point. Shouto's still sitting on the ground, and he must be bleeding onto the concrete.

( _Drip… Drip… Drip…_ )

"You're not," the boy says firmly, something odd in his eyes. Something powerful, hidden in those depths. "Stay here, I'll be right back. Promise."

Then he leaves.

Shouto, though he cannot name the reason why, obeys. He sits there, feeling stupid and confused and too exhausted to move. He regrets it, now, running away. He should be heading back, should go to his room and bandage his wounds, should hide there until dinner was served and he would be forced to leave it and face that man again. He can't, though, and he can't name why, doesn't understand-

( _It stupid. So stupid_ )

Then the boy is back, and he's carrying a plastic convenience store bag, and he's kneeling down in front of Shouto, and he's speaking. Shouto can't hear him, can't distinguish between the words, so he just stares at him numbly and hopes the boy understands. He does, somehow ( _against all odds_ ) and gently picks up Shouto's hand and starts to clean his wounds.

The boy is talking, and his voice is smooth. Shouto watches him numbly, watches the way his shoulders shift when he leans forward, watches the way his fingers grip the alcohol wipes, watches the way his lips move with each word he says. He bandages the cut on his hand, wrapping it in a manner that suggests he's done this action many times before, and for a moment, Shouto wonders.

"What's your name?" They're the first words Shouto has managed to actually say. He feels like they're important, like he has to know, to know this boy's name, to understand _why_ he's treating Shouto so kindly, so _gently_ , because _can't you see just how broken he is?_

( _He screams when the water is poured on his face and falls to the floor. His elbow hits the floor at a bad angle and it hurts. Water drips through his hair, falls down his neck, and pools at his shoulder, it burns it burns_ i _t_ b _u_ r _n_ s)

"Midoriya Izuku," the boy tells him, smiling up at him. He moves to pick up some burn ointment and starts treating the burn on his shoulder, opposite from the one with the scars from the water. "I'm almost done. Be patient a little longer, for me?"

Shouto nods, still staring. He can't seem to stop. His thoughts are sluggish and he doesn't know why. He doesn't know a lot of things, really.

Soon enough, all of Shouto's wounds are cleaned and bandaged. A shirt is then shoved in his arms. Shouto looks down at it in confusion, and then up at Midoriya, wondering why he has been handed a shirt-one with tags still on it-before realizing. _Oh_ , he thinks absently, _I'm still wearing my training clothes._ Clothes which are burnt and torn. The gods only knew what the people he passed had thought when they'd seen him. He's run around in public, looking like this. It would be a miracle if it didn't feature in some gossip rag or another. His status as Endeavor's son wasn't exactly a secret.

( _Why did it always have to be-_ )

"Why?" he asks. He clutches the fabric in his hands. It's a cheap thing, a plain T-shirt colored blue. "Why would you do this?"

Midoriya shifts, suddenly nervous again. He laughs, quietly, but Shouto can hear that it's not intended as an insult, that there is something self deprecating lurking in it. ( _A hatred so thick, it poisons his soul, seeping seeping into every crack and crevice until every space is filled_ ) "I-I-I just… You looked l-like you needed help? A-And…" He paused, sucking in a breath and looking at the ground. "I've been there b-before. I'd have done anything t-to have someone to… help. To notice."

Shouto stares at him for a moment, noticing, for the first time, the bandages wrapped around his fingers and the bruises peaking out from under the sleeves of the hoodie.

( _He's like-_ )

He takes off the burnt tank top and puts on the shirt Midoriya gave him. It was a bit large on him, but it wasn't anything obvious and it was far less conspicuous than the tank top. "Thank you," he says, honestly.

Midoriya looks up at him, startled. He blinks, like he's not quite sure what he just heard, and smiles. "You're welcome."

They sit there in silence for a moment, not saying anything, just looking at each other. Shouto stares Midoriya in the eye, and he sees something there. Something he wants to latch onto and never let go.

( _Maybe that's why he-_ )

"Can I see you again?" he asks, and immediately balks. Why would Midoroya want to see him again? Why would Shouto? He has other things to deal with, more training to do. He needed to be strong enough that using his fire side wouldn't be necessary, that he could become the number one hero without it, but-

He doesn't want to let this go.

( _Why doesn't he want to let this go?_ )

Midoriya flusters and starts waving his hands, his face going red "Th-t-that's!" he stammers before forcing himself to calm down and nod "Uh-y-yeah. You can." He reaches up to scratch the back of his head, dislodging the All Might hoodie as he did so. Then he blinks, before going for the inside of his pockets. He pulls out a notebook and tore out a piece of paper, jotting a number down quickly. He holds it out to Shouto, who takes it from him and stares at it. "Y-You can call or text me there, if you'd like. J-Just let me know. I'll meet y-you."

Then Midoriya paused again, going oddly still compared to how fidgety he was before. The odd look was back again, and Shouto found himself unwilling to look away. "You're not alone in this. If anything happens, call, okay?"

"Okay," Shouto finds himself promising. He gets up to his feet, finally, and he feels better than he did before. Midoriya stands up with him, after quickly gathering all the supplies into the plastic bag, and smiles at him. "D-Do you want to take these with you?" he asks, holding the bag out to him.

Shouto shook his head. "No, I have supplies at home."

Midoriya nods, slowly. "Okay. Take care."

"I will." Shouto says. Then Midoriya leaves, and Shouto feels oddly… light again. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head to get rid of the feeling, and walks for home.

He's been gone long enough.

( _The paper in his hand is clutched like a lifeline_ )

…

Izuku sits on the bed, his back pressed to the wall. In his hand he holds a knife, and he turns it so it catches the light. It's sharp, he's tested it, and could slice clean through flesh. Until Aki can get back to him, it's also the only protection he has.

Things are getting dangerous. He keeps jumping at shadows, flinching at the sound of sirens, and looking over his shoulder whenever he goes out. He keeps thinking that someone is going to catch him, to make him pay up for his crimes.

He's a murder now. He still can't quite bring himself to believe it.

He takes a shuddering breath and grasps the knife tighter. He closes his eyes and thinks. His world is falling apart around him, and he can't do anything to stop it.

His mother is sick. A man is dead. Izuku pulled the trigger that killed him.

Is he a villain? Izuku thinks he must be, by this point. He doesn't feel evil, though. Never has. He just feels numb. And if he was a villain, would he have stopped to help him? That boy he ran into today-Todoroki Shouto.

Endeavor's youngest son. How odd that he'd meet a hero's son and stay to help him.

Izuku smiles to himself and turns the knife in his hand so he can see his reflection on the blade. "Maybe I'm not too far gone, just yet."

Who knew how long that would last.

 **AN: Written for the day two prompt for Villain Izuku Week over on tumblr. The prompt was "Public". This takes place a few days after Nighthawk. Things are only going downhill from here!**


	3. Opia

**Opia - n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there's someone standing there, but unable to tell if you're looking in or looking out.**

 **...**

He breathes.

Each breath rattles his body, aggravating his ribs ( _like fire spiking, sharpening, with each outward motion_ ) but he keeps breathing, one breath after another. His fingers tremble, but he uses them to pull out his phone anyway, pulls it out of the cheap suit he's wearing. He'd worn it to look more professional. All Might hoodies and T-shirts didn't exactly make the best of impressions on villains. ( _They drove a knife into his leg_ ) Blood dripped steadily from the wound in his thigh, making him regret that decision now. ( _Dark dark dark colored red, blooming-_ )

A vigilante. Of all the reasons to be laying here, ( _shivering, shaking, bleeding in the dark_ ) it would be a vigilante.

Had his activities really garnered so much attention?

He glances to either side, looking for any form of movement. He can't afford to be found right now, can't. Not when his mother is barely hanging on, breathing only with the help of machines. Not when he's the only person Todoroki can turn too when everything gets to be too much, when Endeavor's shadow looms too much and he can't, can't-

He breathes.

( _He feels like he's drowning_ )

His fingers tremble as he fumbles with the lock on the screen, tapping in his password and smearing blood across the glass. He opens the phone app, intent upon calling someone anyone, and-

Who is he supposed to call? His mother can't move from the hospital bed, is barely able to stay awake most days, let alone be aware enough and physically capable enough of taking him home. He doesn't know his father's phone number, only knows what he looks like thanks to the photo albums his mother keeps in the living room. Kacchan wouldn't be able to help him with something like this, wouldn't help him even if he could (" _Shitty Deku!"_ ), and doesn't even know about Izuku's illegal activities regardless. He just thinks that Izuku has a part time job.

He's not wrong.

( _ **Bang**_ _, and the body fell to the floor and blood pooled like water. What happened, what had he done? There was a corpse on the ground_ )

He scrolls down and sees the name Todoroki Shouto in his contacts, the last messages from him not even a day ago. They had talked just that morning, about something stupid, something mundane, but it was… nice. Todoroki was nice.

Izuku hesitates, cold gathering in his gut and spreading to his toes. Does he trust Todoroki enough to show him this? To call him here, to this alley, when he's bleeding out on the ground and helpless, so helpless, in the face of the world around him? Fresh from a fight with a vigilante, a fight that's no doubt made the news by now, the gunfire was so loud and that vigilante wasn't subtle at all-

Does he?

They've known each other for a year now-a year of bandaging each other's wounds (" _Thank you."_ ), whispering secrets and leaning on each other whenever things got too be too much, too tough, too overwhelming to do much more than lie there-

Todoroki knew Izuku's mother was sick. They'd visited her together in the hospital a few times before, ( _just three, when they could secret him away-_ ) and he knew Izuku worked to earn money to pay for the medical bills and everything else. He'd even offered to help a few times before, however he was able.

He was certain Todoroki already suspected something. For all that Izuku had gotten better at hiding, at acting like nothing was wrong, Todoroki had known him since before he'd mastered that art, had been there almost since the beginning of it all. He'd never mentioned it, hadn't said a word but-

( _Just a few glances every now and then, an offer of training, "for self defence," a frown_ )

-he was still the son of the number two hero, even if his hatred for Endeavor's existence was almost tangible. What would he do if he knew?

( _What if what if what if_ )

It would be so simple to call him. So simple.

He pressed call.

It rang. Once. Twice.

 _Click_. "Hello?"

"T-todoroki?" His voice shook and he hated that, hated how weak that made him feel. He stuttered and blood flowed steadily from the wound on his leg and he pressed down on it, desperate. He's started to feel light headed and his ribs burned from a kick he hadn't been able to avoid. They might be cracked. Possibly. Izuku doesn't know.

"Midoriya? He sounds concerned. Izuku feels like laughing and Todoroki sounds _concerned_. "What's wrong?"

"I-" Coughs wrack his chest, his lungs ache and sharp pain lances through his chest. He pulls a hand away from his mouth and is greatful there isn't any blood. Coughing blood usually means one of two things, Izuku has come to learn. Either he was bleeding internally and blood was getting caught in his respiratory system, or he had bitten his tongue or cheek hard enough to bleed. Considering he hadn't bitten anything, coughing blood would mean his ribs were far more than cracked and he would have to go the hospital, fresh from a fight with a vigilante or no. He couldn't afford to do that. He _couldn't_.

( _For mother, for mother, for mother_ )

"I need help," he manages to say, tears falling from his eyes. Gods, everything _hurts_.

Todoroki is quiet for a moment, and some sort of rustling is all Izuku can hear, before- "Is there anything I need to bring?"

No questions about what happened. No demands for answers. Just _what do you need?_ Izuku laughs quietly, something he quickly regrets when his ribs _scream_ in protest, and wonders at it all. What did he ever do to deserve the friendship of someone like Todoroki? After all that he had done, how was it possible? "Bandages," he says, mentally reviewing his wounds. "Disinfectant. Gauze, painkillers, and a change of clothes." That would at least keep him alive until he reached home or a safe house. ( _He had a safe house, a_ safe house _, what even was his life-_ ) "Can you manage that?"

There was more rustling. "Where do I meet you?"

Izuku glances around the alley he's hidden in. He doesn't know where the vigilante is, doesn't know where the heroes or the police are. The vigilante might be dead, he doesn't know. The gun Aki had gotten for him had a strong kick to it, and Izuku hadn't quite managed to perfect his aim just yet. He's better with knives, but he doesn't have any throwing knives, isn't practiced with using them anyways, and the vigilante had been primarily long distance. Right up until he had gotten in close and not only stabbed Izuku but kicked him into a wall.

It's quiet. So quiet. Were there the heroes? The sirens, the police? Where was the city life, the back alley thugs, the low life villains who so enjoyed lingering in places like these? How much longer was this place going to be safe, how much longer was _he_ going to be safe? Maybe the police had already found the place where it had all gone down, find the maybe corpse of the vigilante Stardust and figure out that it was the information broker Akatani Mikumo who he had faught. Maybe they'd find Izuku in this alley, bled out and dead from his wounds and the school would find out, and his mother would find out-Kacchan would be so angry. He'd probably complain to the world that it should have been him to take him out, him to take Izuku down when he was a hero. His mother would be on her own then, no one to pay the medical bills, no one to keep the apartment, no one to fend off the lone sharks or to visit her or to brighten up her day and she would die alone in her hospital bed, wondering how it was that her son could turn so bad, do such horrible things all in her name-

"Midoriya. You're mumbling."

Oh. He did it again. How much had Todoroki heard?

( _And the world fell down around him, crumbling to ash and dust_ )

Izuku took a deep, shuddering breath and braced himself. He would trust Todoroki. He didn't have much of a choice at this point, it was far too late to turn back. Had been to late from the moment he had hit the call button on his phone. He gave Todoroki directions to where he was. Izuku wasn't able to move at this point, wouldn't be able to get to somewhere more easily accessible, didn't really want too-

It was still too quiet.

It didn't take long for Todoroki to get there. He arrived with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed and expression concerned. He was a difficult person to read, but Izuku had gotten better at it with time. He guessed it was the same the other way around.

"Midoriya?" He asked. ( _The silence shatters like glass_ ) "Are you here?"

"Here," Izuku mumbled, his head lolling to one side. He felt sluggish and slow, and his head ached. Everything ached. He'd probably lost too much blood, it stained his pants and the ground red and brown and black. Todoroki was at his side in an instant, the bag set down on the ground. He started on Izuku's injuries immediately, helping Izuku out of his clothes so he could better see what he was dealing with. He tends to Izuku's leg first, and then checks to see if Izuku's ribs are cracked or broken. Izuku mumbles out what the worst of the wounds are, and Todoroki is silent as he works.

It's only after the worst of Izuku's wounds are wrapped and bandaged that he speaks. "What happened?" The words are spoken softly, but Todoroki is staring right at him, straight in the eye, and Izuku wonders just how much he knows. There is an odd look there, an indescribable one. ( _Izuku feels like it's swallowing him whole_ )

"...What do you know?" Izuku askes, finally, after the silence has stretched out far too long.

Todoroki's lips purse and he pulls a plastic bag out of the duffle bag. He creates ice with his quirk to drop in it at he speaks, concentrating on his task. "I know you're doing something illegal. I know you're doing it or your mother."

Izuku let out a long sigh. "So you know that much, huh?" What a thought.

"I'm not going to turn you in, if that's what you're worried about." Izuku looks down at Todoroki to see that he's stilled. He tries to see the expression on his face, to get a peek into what he might be thinking, but all he sees is two toned hair and a hint of the burn scar that trails across his shoulder and down his back. "I'll keep quiet."

( _Does he believe so little in him?That he might-_ )

"Why?" Izuku asks, because he had to know. Why would Todoroki keep it a secret, all of this, the wounds the blood the breaking of the law. Izuku is a villain. ( _There is no getting around that, not at this point, not after so long_ ) He's hurt too many people in his quest to heal his mother, even taken someone's life with his own hands. Possibly two someones, if Stardust really is dead. He'll have to get someone to check up on that later. That, as well as if the client had gotten away, as well as how Stardust had found Izuku's base of operations in the first place.

He's been an information broker for nearly three years now. He'd taken steps to make sure no one could connect Akatani Mikumo to Midoriya Izuku, had made certain that all his meetings were secure before attending them. Yamada Kenichi had been an eye-opener and Izuku was nothing if not a quick study. He researches al his clients thoroughly, vets them before he meets them so he could avoid walking into another trap. ( _And yet-_ )

"You listen." Todoroki shrugs and looks up and Izuku can see his eyes again, read his expression again, and all he sees there is incomprehensible. There is gratitude and care and concern and worry and something else, something different, all mixed up in it and Izuku hasn't the faintest idea how to interpret it all. "You don't care who I am, or what I can do for you. You don't care that I'm Endeavor's son, or that I'll be attending UA next year on a recommendation. You listen when I speak, and you care about me because I'm _me_."

And isn't that just perfect? Attachment just because he treated Todoroki like an actual human being? Were people, was _society_ , really so fucked up that that was all it took to earn someone's loyalty, to make a person willing to break the law for him? Really? Really?

( _He remembers warm summer days when he was a child, the sun beating down on his back. Kacchan looked so cool, standing there on the hill, his hands lit up with sparks. "I'm going to be the number one hero!" he cried, Kacchan cried, and Izuku followed along like a pilgrim before a god_ )

People really do things for the strangest of reasons, don't they?

He feels like laughing again.

( _He feels like he's going mad_ )

"And if I've killed someone?" Izuku asked, because he's desperate, because he's been drowning under the weight of his guilt, the pressure of needing to succeed, the stress of his mother getting weaker and weaker everyday- (" _She's still asleep today. She woke up briefly this morning, but we don't think she'll be up again for another few hours at least."_ )

Todoroki is quiet again after that. He takes the ice pack that's been melting in his hands he finished making it and presses it against Izuku's-thankfully neither broken nor cracked-ribs. Izuku can still see his eyes, and isn't sure what he sees there, can't fathom what's happening in the depths of Todoroki's mind.

His eyes are two different colors. Just like his hair. One is brown, the same color as tree bark, and the other is an icy blue that's almost teal. It looks like ice. They're pretty.

"Have you?" Todoroki asks and the only thing Izuku can do is nod numbly. "Why?"

"He tried to kill me," Izuku concesses. (" _It's all your fault, all your fault!"_ ) "He wanted revenge."

"For what?"

"I ruined his life. Maybe not directly, but-" Izuku took a deep breath, forcing himself not to wince when it aggravates his ribs. The ice feels cool against them and it numbs the pain, for which Izuku is grateful, so grateful. "I still did it." He whispers those words, so quiet, they're almost lost on the non-existent wind.

Todoroki stares at him. Izuku gets lost in his eyes, reaching, desperately, for any stray thought he can grab onto. The secret for finding out what Todoroki is thinking, Izuku has found, lies in his eyes. They're always so much more expressive than the rest of him. But there were moments, moments like these, where Izuku would never be able to tell what he's thinking, never be able to pluck out his secrets and spread them to the world.

Then he's being pulled into a hug, and this time he does wince at the pain in his ribs, but-two hands, two slightly different temperatures, are holding him, gripping his bare back and this is the first hug Izuku has had from anyone in years.

Todoroki doesn't like being touched. Izuku can't blame him. Not when his home life is what it is, not when his father is who he is.

( _And yet-_ )

Izuku puts his arms around him and buries his face into the crook of Todoroki's neck. It's comforting, and warm, and kind and Izuku has _missed_ this, missed it so much, missed the hugs his mother used to give him all the time-

He shivers and clutches Todoroki tighter, leaning against the warmer half of his body.

Izuku doesn't know how long they stay like that, just holding each other, but he's holding back tears by the end of it, trying not to cry. They break apart eventually, thought, and Izuku looks Todoroki in the eye and says, "Thank you."

"Any time," Todoroki responds, and he looks like he means it. He's smiling, just slightly, an upturn of his lips that light up his eyes and Izuku questions, once more what he did to deserve this.

"You're okay with this?" Izuku asks, because he still can't bring himself to believe it. "With me being a villain?"

"Are you?" Todoroki asks. "A villain?"

Izuku opens his mouth, and then closes again. Wasn't it obvious what he was? "I'm an information broker, Todoroki. I sell information to whoever pays the most. Most of the time, my buyers are villains. That's not even mentioning the fact that I've killed." He laughs, quietly, and the sound stabs at him like knives.

( _Blood pools beneath him, blooming like flowers, it's red like roses are supposed to be_ )

"My father is called a hero," Todoroki says. "If a man like that is a hero, then what does that make you?"

"You-" Izuku chokes on the words, and this time tears really do fall. He laughs and it's a broken thing, a broken sound, like glass shattered on the ground beneath. "Of all people, I'm glad I ran into you." ( _On that day, with knife in hand, and he looked so vulnerable, so scared-_ ) "So glad-"

He's still crying and Todoroki reaches up to run a hand through Izuku's hair. Izuku leans into it and when he looks, there is something gentle in Todoroki's expression. He relishes in it.

"Tell me everything?"

He does.

He explains how it all started. About how the illness had shown up one day out of nowhere. _("Mother? Are you okay?"_ ) They hadn't thought much of it at first. It was just a cough and it was cold season and wasn't it normal to get a little sick around that time of year? (" _It's just a cough, Izuku. I'll take some medicine and be better in no time!"_ ) He talks about how it only got worse from there.

He talks about searching for jobs, for people who would hire a child, for odd jobs or cheap favors, anything to get a little more money. (" _Wha-How old are ya, kid? Ya can't be more than ten! Why on earth would ya wanna work here of all places?"_ ) He talks about finding a job in a convenience store when he was twelve, moving boxes in the back. He talks about the person he worked with, Yin-san, and how they had always seemed like a delinquent, and how they had been interested in what Izuku had to say. (" _Take Monster's quirk, for example. He would do well against villains who specialize in close combat, but pit him against a villain with more ranged options, such as Cielo, and he would have to get much more creative in order to take them down."_ ) He talks about how Yin-san had payed Izuku to do research on one of his favorite heroes, about how Izuku had presented that information to him and accepted the money with glee. How Yin-san had started bringing other people for Izuku to met.

He talks about creating another persona, Akatani Mikumo, in an attempt to keep his normal life separate from what was quickly turning into a business as an information broker. He talks about turning on the TV and finding out a hero had lost a battle because of a weakness Izuku had sold not even three days before-

The guilt, the depression, the questioning of if he should be doing this or not. The hospital visits, the loan sharks, the nights spent stalking.

He talks about Yamada Kenichi. About how information Izuku had sold had been used to kill the man's fiancee. About how he had pulled a gun and Izuku had just _reacted_. About how he had pulled the trigger, and Yamada Kenichi had fallen to the ground, blood pooling beneath his body and a glassy look overtaking his eyes.

(" _What is good?" The words drip from his mouth like blood and ink, dreams of shadows and laughter lingering behind his eyes, their echoes mocking him on the ceiling. "What is evil?"_ )

He talks about contacting Sanada Aki to get a set of knives and a handgun. About taking lessons to better defend himself. About night after night after night of nightmares. About the paranoia, the nervousness, the _everything_.

He feels numb by the end of it. No, not numb. Raw. He feels raw and wrung out, exhausted in a way he'd never felt like before. He's shaking, his face feels like it's covered in static, he's been crying and falling apart through all of it, and Todoroki, Todoroki-

He was a lifeline, one hand in his and silent support, not judging anything Izuku had done. Not one word putting him down.

( _Someone knows now, someone knows-They've heard his story, all of it, every last bit of it-and they're still in an alley where the police could find them or the heroes could find him and Izuku is barely wearing any clothes_ )

He shivers, and Todoroki pushes a T-shirt in his hands. It's blue. And familiar. The T-shirt that Izuku had given Todoroki when they first met. Now Izuku feels like laughing again. ( _It keeps happening, bubbling up inside him and getting stuck in his throat_ ) Izuku smiles and puts it on. When he's done, Todoroki helps him stand and put on a pair of clean pants.

He's finally dressed, his wounds are tended for, and he leans against Todoroki to keep standing. "Now what?" he asks. "Do we go back to normal?" Normal. What even was normal?

"I don't think that's possible," Todoroki says, setting Izuku back down on the ground. He starts backing up all their medical supplies, and stuffs Izuku's ruined suit into the duffel bag as well.

"Then what is?" Izuku looks up at the sky. It's cloudy today, and the skies are colored grey. It looks gloomy and cold and Izuku hates it.

"Take me with you."

Izuku freezes. He turns to look amd sees determination in Todoroki's gaze. "What?"

"You start taking me with you. That's what's going to happen."

 **AN: This was supposed to be for the third day of Villain Izuku Week, and I'd like to say I'm sorry for the long wait, but I'm honestly not. A lot has been happening and my muse has been all over the place. Regardless, it's finally done, and I hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Kuebiko

**Kuebiko - n. a state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence, which force you to revise your image of what can happen in this world—mending the fences of your expectations, weeding out all unwelcome and invasive truths, cultivating the perennial good that's buried under the surface, and propping yourself up like an old scarecrow, who's bursting at the seams but powerless to do anything but stand there and watch.**

He screams.

He picks up a vase and throws it against the wall. It shatters on impact, ceramic shards falling to the floor, and still, still he is not satisfied, still not calmed the rage and despair and the _why why why_ that swirls in an endless loop in his head. He screams, wordless and full of so many emotions that he's certain that he's drowning in them. Blood drips from his hands, splatters on the furniture, on the floor, and Izuku doesn't care, can't care, not when everything that he's ever worked for, all the pain and suffering and wounds and two corpses on the ground by his hand was all for _nothing_.

( _He gets the call when he's in class. He's bored, and taking class notes in one notebook and analyzing a new hero in another. They're new to the scene, this Mt. Lady, but they made a splash in their debut and Izuku has no doubt there will be buyers for this particular set on information. He'll spend tonight gathering more information on them; the school they studied at, family relations, close friendships, rivalries, enemies, favorites, habits, routines, and more._

 _The door opens and the teacher stops their lecture and Izuku is only paying it half a mind, absently sorting the information away in the back of his mind for later use should it prove important. It's only when he hears his name that he looks up._

" _Can Midoriya Izuku please come with me? You have a call waiting in the lobby," the assistant-Sakura Nemu, age 34, unmarried-says, smiling sadly. Izuku resists the urge to narrow his eyes, keeps his expression guileless and clueless._

" _O-of course!" He stutters and stands, closing his notebooks and slipping them into his bag. He follows Sakura-san out the door, wondering what the call could be about. It's not one of his contacts, that much is obvious, and it's not Todoroki, he's still in school at this point, so it must be the hospital. Has something in his mother's situation changed?_

 _They arrive and the secretary at the desk-Yamamoto Takeru, age 41, married to Yamamoto Sarah, American, age 40-hands him the phone with a grimace. The expression sends ice through his veins, as if Todoroki had frozen all his blood with his quirk, and Izuku forces his breathing to be steady, even as a feeling of dread settles over his mind._

" _Midoriya Izuku?" the voice over the phone is female, and familiar. One of the nurses assigned to his mother, no doubt, and Izuku has all their information memorized but his mind is racing so fast, his thoughts swirling in his head and he can't bring himself to remember much more._

" _Yes?" He holds his breath after the word is out, sucks it in and traps it, and his world fades to nothing but him, the phone, and the voice on the other side._

" _We're sorry," the nurse begins, and Izuku lets out a choked sob because he knows that tone of voice, he knows it- "But Midoriya Inko has passed away."_

 _Something clatters to the floor-the phone, the phone-and his entire world devolves into static_ )

He flips the couch and tears down the stupid boat painting on the wall and shoves all the papers off the living room table so they splay across the floor. He screams and screams until his throat is raw and still he screams because maybe if he screams enough the gods will listen for once in his life and make everything right with the world again.

But they don't. There is no magic flash of light that brings his mother before him, smile wide and eyes bright and skin pink and healthy and flushed with simple, happy pleasure. The expression she always got when Izuku handed her a gift or told her how much she meant to him, how precious she was, how much he _loved_ her.

It was all for her. All of it. Everything had been for her. His discarded morals, his carefully acquired skills, his network of spies. Everything was for _her_.

What was he supposed to do?

( _The trip to the apartment is blurred and faded. He is excused for the rest of the day and mechanically packs up his things in his school bag and stumbles his way out the gates. He has his phone in his hand before he even realizes it, dialing a number he has memorized by now, he's called it so many times._

 _It picks up and he's breathing too fast, his head feels light and his body feels like it's about to float away, he has no weight. "I need-" he spits the words out before they can get trapped in his throat and the sentence gets stuck there anyways. "Todo- I_ _ **need.**_ "

" _Where are you?" The voice on the other end asks, and Izuku nearly sobs._

" _The apartment," he breathes and he's almost there and it doesn't matter what time of day is because his mother is dead and he's not sure how much longer he can hold himself together before he unravels at the seams._

" _Breathe, Midoriya," the voice commands and Izuku obeys blindly, his lungs gasping for air, his chest expanding to accommodate the gas. He's stumbled his way up the stairs, somehow-when did he get here?-and there's a key in his hand the door is opening and tears are falling and his mother is dead._

 _For mother for mother for mother, he had whispered like a mantra. For mother for mother for mother._

 _What does he do now that his mother is dead?_ )

"Midoriya!" A voice sounds behind him and Izuku whips around and lashes out with a fist and it hits whoever is there square on the jaw. They stumble back and it's only then that Izuku sees who it is, that it's Todoroki, that it's _Shouto_ , his friend, his confidant, his bodyguard, his partner in crime.

"Todoroki-" He flings himself forward and wraps his arms around him, clinging to Todoroki's back and digs his fingers like claws into his shirt. He's getting blood on the fabric he knows, it registers somewhere distant in the back of his mind, but it's all so chaotic and fucked up that he doesn't care, can't care, won't care until later when he's finally calmed down. He screams again, yells and his lungs burn and he clutches Todoroki like he's the only real person in the world, like the rest of it is an illusion, like his reality is nothing more than a dream. Todoroki wraps his arms around Izuku and they sink to the floor amidst the destruction as Izuku wails.

( _She's dead she's dead she's dead what does he do now?_ )

Sobs come heavy and tears blurr his vision. He's shaking, trembling, twitching, limbs not obeying anything he wants them too. He wants this to end, everything to disappear and vanish into the void, for the world to burn to ash and dust until there is nothing left because he can't live like this, can't, not after all he's done, all the lives he's ruined-

"Shhh." Todoroki's voice is soothing and soft, and his body is warm and solid and real under Izuku's hands. They rock on the ground and Izuku has snot running down his face and there's static in his hearing, loud and persistent and all encompassing, overwhelming. "Shhhhh."

"Todoroki-" Izuku chokes out. " _Shouto-_ "

"I'm here," Todoroki whispers, quiet and comforting and a rock in the storm around them, in him, swallowing him whole. "I'm here."

"I can't-" Izuku shakes his head, desperate for someone, anyone, to understand what he's feeling, what he's going through, all that's happening around him and he can feel everything he's ever worked for slip through his fingers like sand. " _Shouto!_ "

"Hey, listen to the sound of my voice, okay? Focus." It breaks through the chaos and the lightning and thunder and rain and Izuku breathes. It shudders through him and he zeroes in on it, grasping for something, so desperate, why why why was this happening.

"Can you answer some questions for me?" Todoroki asks, and Izuku can only gasp again, a wave coming up and dragging him under, he's drowning. "What's two plus two?"

He he keeps gasping for air, his lungs ache, his head aches, everything aches. "Four," he whispers, like rapture, like gospel.

"Seven plus three?" There is a hand in his hair and Izuku grips Todoroki's shirt tighter and he hears ripping sounds and he doesn't care.

"Ten." He gasps the word out and the sounds are getting quieter as he focuses on the numbers, on the problems, on something he can solve, something he can fix while everything else shatters.

"Nine minus four?" Todoroki is so kind, so kind, what did Izuku ever do to deserve this?

"Five," he whispers, his shoulders slumping, his grip relaxing.

"Fifteen plus eight?"

Twenty three." The world is settling, he _breathes._

"One plus seven?"

"Eight." His vision is clearing, the static is fading.

"Ten plus three?"

"Thirteen." _Oh._ That's better. He's still trembling and he stills, slumping his head against Todoroki's shoulder.

"Better?" Todoroki asks and Izuku just sits there, quiet. In response, Todoroki holds him tighter and waits.

Izuku isn't sure how long they sit there, in the room broken from his rage, from his despair, from his breakdown. Eventually, he lifts his head and looks at Todoroki. He feels small, and vulnerable, and weak. He wants to hide away from the world and wait there until everything is okay again. Instead, he looks Todoroki in the eye and waits.

"What happened?" Todoroki asks, gentle, soft, his hands firm against Izuku's back, an anchor keeping Izuku from descending into madness.

Where does he begin? Izuku lets out a bitter laugh, his head falling forward, his hair shading his eyes. It's a mess as it usually is when he's not in costume, all slicked back and dyed darker, darker, to keep people from connecting the dots. Body language and details. That's what sells the costume, what convinces people of who others are.

"I got a call from the hospital," Izuku says, and his voice is rough and scratchy from his screaming and it hurts to talk. It did before too, when he was reciting numbers, but it's far more noticable now. "Mother is dead."

( _Lying cold and broken on the bed, beeeeeeeeep, it rings in his ears, the phantom sound of the machine_ )

"Oh," Todoroki breathes, his eyes widening, glittering with realization.

Izuku laughs again and regrets it for the pain it brings him. "Yeah. _Oh._ "

He keeps laughing and the static comes back and Izuku reaches forward and grips Todoroki's shoulders hard enough to bruise. He's shaking again, and laughing, and he's hysterical and about to start crying again, it all bubbles up in his throat.

"Breathe, Izuku." Izuku gasps for breath and leans forward to rest his forehead against Todoroki's chest. "Breathe."

That's when Todoroki's phone rings, shattering the atmosphere around them. Izuku is tempted to take the thing and smash it against the ground, stomp on it until it's bits of metal and glass and plastic on the floor, useless and unable to interrupt because how dare it, _how dare it,_ interrupt Izuku when he's falling apart?

Todoroki takes a hand away from Izuku's hair to pull the phone out of his pocket and pales slightly when he sees the name Endeavor flashing across the screen. Izuku spies it from the corner of his vision, sees the name, and his lips quirk up in a smile.

He knows what he wants to do now. He knows what to do next. He leans up to whisper in Todoroki's ear, pours poison straight into Todoroki's mind.

"Let's run away," he says, one hand slipping from Todoroki's shoulder and up into his hair, the other sliding down his back. Blood from the cuts on his hands, from shattered glass and ceramic cutting into his skin, stains Todoroki's hair and his clothes and Izuku feels insanity creep up, taking hold, this idea-

"Let's leave this place," he whispers, the words toxic but he doesn't care. He's far too gone, lost in his own delusions and he knows it and he doesn't care if it's a fantasy that he shouldn't indulge. "We can become brokers full time." So sweet, his words, they seep into Todoroki's thoughts, intrusive and invasive and so, so tempting. "You won't have to go back, and there is nothing for me here." Laughter in his voice, sadness and his cheeks are wet from tears. "We can just leave it all behind and start over again."

The phone keeps ringing, loud, so loud and now it's Todoroki trembling under his grasp, his breath coming quicker, and Izuku tightens his grip in Todoroki's hair.

"Could we?" Todoroki's voice is so vulnerable, so full of age old hope and just a hint of want, an impossible wish. "Can we?"

"Why not?" Izuku croons. "With all the resources available to us, why shouldn't we?"

Todoroki breathes in, shuddering in Izuku's grasp and Izuku feels he's almost there, just a little more and this could all go away, change into something else, something different, so he wouldn't have to stay here, in this apartment, this place, where she used to live.

He wants out. He wants to leave. He can't stay here, can't, and Todoroki is the only thing he has left, the only one who knows it all, who leans on him, who _needs_ him, needs _Izuku,_ and Izuku could never leave him behind.

"Let's leave Endeavor behind to rot, leave him wondering what happened to his perfect plan."

Todoroki exhales and Izuku knows, just knows that he's won this, that Todoroki is his, and there is something, something dark and possessive and a part of him he doesn't like to acknowledge that purrs in his soul.

"Okay."

Izuku smiles as Todoroki speaks.

"Let's leave."

( _The phone keeps ringing, forgotten_ )

 **AN: Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.**

 **I am not okay. I am also not sorry. I warned you things would go downhill, and here we are, with things gone waaaay downhill. Yay for mental breakdowns! Also. Me? Updating two days in a row? What is this madness?**

 **Come chat with me on Tumblr. You can find me metronomeihear. The author loves anons and people screaming in their ask box.**


End file.
